


vulnerability is a radical concept

by mlraven



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-02 14:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16307126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven/pseuds/mlraven
Summary: Rosa comes to work sick.Or, as she would say, "What are you talking about, Amy, I'm perfectly fine."





	vulnerability is a radical concept

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mierke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierke/gifts).



> Happy Trick or Treat, Mierke!
> 
> I wanted to write for your "rain setting" prompt, but this came out instead. I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> Thanks to prinzenhasserin for the beta and suggestions for the ending!

No one is surprised when Rosa comes in sick the morning after Halloween.

She insisted on taking the overnight stakeout, on a roof in the rain, because it was _her_ perp, dammit, and she’d be damned if she was going to let someone else get the collar.

She got it, but processing took long enough that she barely had time to run home for a quick shower before she was due back.

Rosa shuffles into the precinct, nose red and damp-looking. She glares at the desk officer, daring him to say anything. He hastily refocuses on the wide end of the metal detector and Rosa stomps past him and up the stairs.

Hitchcock and Scully don’t notice her, too distracted by the gigantic mound of brightly-colored Starbursts that covers Scully’s keyboard, but Amy does (of course). Rosa doesn’t make eye contact, but Amy disregards the hint.

Amy jumps up, hovering around Rosa as she sits heavily at her desk.

“Rosa, you’re sick! Why did you come in? You should be in bed!” She grabs the pristine box of Kleenex from her own desk and shoves it at Rosa, dropping it on her folded hands when Rosa doesn’t react. She quickly retracts her hands and scours them with hand sanitizer.

Rosa’s not sure where she pulled it from, but Amy’s basically an anxious, office-supply-summoning demon.

She ignores Amy. She’s here to do her job, and that doesn’t include talking to Amy.

Amy hovers worriedly until she realizes that Rosa isn’t going to acknowledge her, then retreats to wring her hands in her own chair. Rosa thinks she hears Amy speaking tersely into her phone, something about a sniffly German Shepherd? Not important.

She focuses on typing up her report, struggling to make her fingers hit the correct keys. For some reason, they keep moving further away from her hands. Maybe it’s because her hands are cold. Why is it so cold in the precinct?

  
  


Rosa comes to slowly, stifling a groan. Is she lying on a couch? In the break room? She doesn’t remember walking here, which must mean that someone else carried her.

She tries to sit up but a massive head rush makes her fall back onto the couch.

When her vision clears, Gina’s face is right in front of her. There’s the little wrinkle between her eyebrows that means she’s worried, though Rosa can’t think of why. She reaches out a shaky hand to press on the wrinkle, but she misses and ends up brushing haphazardly at Gina’s forehead.

“What,” she says, voice strangely raspy.

Gina smiles slightly: not her public-performance smile, but the real one that usually only comes out at home, dancing with Iggy in the kitchen while Rosa tries to cook.

“You’re sick, hon,” she says softly, taking Rosa’s hand and setting it back in her lap.

Rosa frowns. That’s impossible; she never gets sick. She opens her mouth to explain this (again), but Gina holds up a thermometer.

Rosa squints, grabbing Gina’s hand to tow the thermometer closer to her face. Why are the numbers so tiny?

“It says one-oh-three,” Gina says, still speaking in that incongruously-gentle voice. “It’s time to go home, Rosa.”

Rosa starts to argue but ends up doubled over coughing uncontrollably. When she catches her breath, Gina’s holding her coat.

“C’mon,” she says, gesturing behind Rosa (at the door?). Rosa considers checking behind her for any escaped perps, but is distracted by Gina, who’s managed to wrap a leopard-print scarf around her neck. If she felt any less bad, she’d object, strenuously, but she’s starting to concede that she might be a bit sick. Maybe.

Gina slips an arm around her waist to help her to her feet. She stands, swaying slightly, as Gina wraps her coat around her shoulders like a cape.

“Gina,” Rosa croaks, shivering, “I think I might be sick.”

Gina presses a kiss to her wool-covered shoulder, one last moment of quiet tenderness before she opens the door and they re-enter the world.

“I know, love. It’s okay; I’ve got you.”

Distantly, Rosa hears Gina pleasantly threatening to DM Jake’s toddler bath time photos to the NYFD Instagram if he so much as looks at Rosa.

As Jake babbles reassurances, Rosa leans slightly more heavily on Gina.

Maybe it’s okay, sometimes, to be taken care of.


End file.
